Just eight short weeks before his wounds will have healed. Two months, and the empty cavity in his chest that was once filled by a bullet will be healed, pink and new. Scars will be left, sure, but the pain and suffering will be over. The physical pain, that is.
My days become monotonous, gray and constant. The doctors insist that I stay for a few nights in case of relapsed shock, considering the predicament. Gale's kept too, but we only share occasional empty glances, and that's it. No words, nothing. I can't.
Although they have requested that I rest in bed, no one stops me when I wander the halls. It's mostly empty on our floor, but through night time explorations, I've discovered much more. It's incredible to see so many organized doctors with so much knowledge and so many supplies all gathered here. Before, back home, my mother held the only medical advice around, and even then it wasn't enough. Here, there is more than anyone could ever need.
Even though I do spend hours exploring, it's usually by night. My days are spent in thought, or with visitors. It often surprises me how many people start to care about you when something tragic occurs. Haymitch comes every day with news that's not worth hearing, and Effie too. Plutarch shows up, mostly trying to dig information from me. What did I see, what can I remember? But I just shrug him off, blaming my lack of memory on the shock. He always leaves with a sigh, hoping for more next time. And then, my prep team, who are just beside themselves with grief that the events of the next few weeks were canceled so abruptly. Not that Peeta lies in his room with a bullet wound, or that I am on the edge of insanity, but I don't expect anything else from them. Faces come and go, some I recognize and others I don't. My mother calls, frantic, but I assure her that everything is fine. I can tell she doesn't really believe it, but I think she is putting on a tough face for both of us anyway. Even President Paylor stops in, who I haven't officially spoken to in months. Her brown hair is carefully knit into a round bun on top of her head, and her round face is flushed. But, she's understanding and kind, and she seems to understand my situation more than anyone. She leaves with a tight smile, her bodyguards following closely behind.
After the visiting sessions each morning, it's me who does the visiting next. I'm only allowed to see him while he sleeps, but anything is better than being left with just my thoughts.
I watch Peeta carefully through the glass, his bandaged chest rising and falling, his fingers twitching slightly. When he lays here, he reminds me more of the young boy in the bakery rather than the fragile and damaged man he's become. His scarred face is still and free of worry or regret. I just want to feel his warmth, his hands in mine, but then reality hits me again. He wakes, his eyes crazed with fear and anger and confusion, and my dream is over. Peeta's gone.
After a few days of this same repeated schedule, Plutarch insists that I attend a meeting that I assume must be centered around the week's events. After blowing off the last two, I know I can't get out of this one. Even with the discerning look he receives from the nurse on my way out, he seems delighted to break me out.
Breaking me out turns out to be just a short elevator ride to a conference room the next floor up. I must look considerably ragged judging from the looks I'm getting. Without my make up, or my costumes, or even my classically braided hair, some people have a hard time even recognizing me. It's mostly other patients, though. The people who really know me have seen me in this state before.
My eyes immediately scan the moderately full room. The long black table lined with simple chairs are caged in by bleak gray walls. Gale is already seated, gently rubbing his fingers up and down the edge of the table. An odd look consumes his eyes, as if he isn't his real self. Is he though, anymore? He surely isn't the same boy I met in the woods all those years ago, or even the person I saved from one last whipping. But, who is he? I can't tell now, and I'm not sure if I ever will. Some things will never be uncovered.
Haymitch sits across from Gale, a permanent frown settled on his unshaven face. To my surprise, Fulvia sits next to him, gently humming to herself as she scribbles a few notes down. Her plump face is unchanged, her demeanor the same. Proud, and just a little desperate. She is not the first person I would have chosen to see, but her company is not entirely upsetting and I decide to let her pass under my nose. A few more people are scattered around the table, but the faces are new.
I am shocked when Paylor appears, her two stocky bodyguards on either side. She sits down at the opposite end of Plutarch, who gives her a curt nod. I want to sit next to Haymitch, but the seats next to him are both filled. I finally have to settle with a seat next to Gale, who doesn't even acknowledge me when I sit down next to him. Maybe it's better that way, though.
Plutarch gulps down a sip of coffee, and then clears his throat. He doesn't waste any time.
"I think we can all agree on the circumstances that we are meeting on today?" He asks, and casual nods are shared throughout.
"Yes, well, it's obvious now that it's no longer safe for Peeta or Katniss in the Capitol. Can we once again agree?" Everyone nods again.
"So, our next step is getting them home." He says, and there are murmurs throughout. Although no one says it, it's obvious what is on everyone's mind. How?
"If you are unaware of Peeta's present state, I should best describe it as...well, unfit to return home." He says quietly, and the words gently stab against my chest. Crazed, sick, broken...
"But," He adds somewhat cheerfully, "We have some of the country's finest doctors working with him now." He nods towards an older man who smiles tightly. I recognize him as one of the doctors in the room that first day, but otherwise, he's a stranger to my mind. He's old, with wrinkles sprouting down his face in different directions. His thin gray hair is pushed over in a gentle swoop, and when he smiles, you can tell that he must do it a lot; two wrinkles crease an angle into his cheek to prove this.
Plutarch goes on to describe Peeta's condition in a greater depth, but I don't listen. I can't bare to hear any more talk of pain or suffering, and from the looks on the faces in the room, the words seem especially awful. The only face that doesn't seem generally discerned is Gale's. He sits, leaning over the table, curiosity sparked in his eyes. Almost as if he is making a plan.
At some point, he directs the conversation to Paylor, who explains the crime itself. Rumors had been spread, but mostly small things that no one took seriously until now. Talks of rebellion in the Capitol, death of the victors, the District's rightful places. When war is mixed in her words, I can't help the rut that forms in my stomach.
"War?" Gale asks, and Paylor nods.
"Of course, with the ruin that we are still in, it is a distant and dreaded thought. But, we must be prepared for any sort of trouble that could arise." She says, and Gale just shakes his head.
"Then stop it now, before more people get hurt." He says.
"It's not so simple. First the culprit must be found, and then the carrier of the rumors. It's a difficult process." She answers, and ale slumps back into his chair, unsatisfied with the answer.
"Our main concern is the safety of all citizens. It is unfortunate that Peeta had to be hurt so tragically to make us realize our faults, but we know of them now. We hope to extinguish the flame before it catches." Paylor says, and Plutarch nods again. More mumbling spreads, and then, we're dismissed.
It's Plutarch who reminds me that everyone has left, that I can go. I numbly stand up, letting him guide me out the door. A nurse leads me back to my room, where I am escorted to my bed and handed a tall glass of water. I take a small sip to satisfy her, waiting until she just barely crosses the hall. I quietly spring out of bed, my gown tickling my wobbly knees. I carefully tiptoe across the room and to the door.
It's simple to find Gale, just across the hall. He's sitting on the bed, still like a statue, staring out the window. The cloudy afternoon's light shines through, casting shadows on his tired face. He doesn't notice when I step up behind him.
"Gray..." I mumble, and his head cocks sideways, his body jolting with my words. Startled, he takes in a deep sigh, but then just nods.
"Everything. The buildings, the walls, the people..." He says. And of course, he's read my mind. As much as I hate to admit it, Gale still knows me, some small part.
It's just silence then. My bare feet pressed against the cold, smooth floor. His hands folded against his gray trousers. Our eyes flickering with pain and tension. But, my crazed and impatient mind snaps before his does, and my voice shatters the silence.
"What do you know?" I ask, and at first, it's just his dark eyes staring into mine. But he knows he can't lie to me, not again.
"It's Peeta," He admits, and although thousands of thoughts explode at mention of his name, I don't even flinch. I'm frozen, paralyzed.
"What?" I whisper, and he turns toward me.
"They've been working for days, scanning and testing. It's his brain." He says, but I just shake my head. "I've watched, the scans."
"The hijacking..." I murmur.
"No, it's more than that. The poison has latched itself to his brain in clumps." He says, his eyes pleading with mine.
"I...I don't understand," I mumble, and this time, he closes his fingers around my wrists.
"I've figured it out, Katniss. I think I know." He exclaims, shaking my arms.
"What do you mean?" I beg, searching for answers in his words.
"The leaves. It's the leaves!" He shouts, but I'm still struggling to comprehend. His voice is crazed and shaky, and I don't even know if what he's trying to say is true. But, from the look in his eyes, and the tension in his voice, something makes me want to believe him.
And then, almost suddenly, it hits me. What he's saying, what he means. Peeta, the hijacking, the leaves.
The leaves.
My face must register with complete shock before I realize, because when he sees it, I can almost hear him sigh with heavy relief.
"Don't you see?" He asks, and I nod. His words are finally piecing together.
"We have to tell them," I exclaim, and this time, I tighten my hands around his arms. He's still for a moment, and he seems to be making a decision. To help me, to help Peeta? What is it that he can't quite choose?
But finally, he just nods. I pull his wrist, and lead him into the hall, looking for someone, anyone who will understand. And most of, someone who can help Peeta.
Under the florescent glow of the small office, I'm leaning against the wall next to Haymitch, who's gently rocking back and forth, and Gale, who's eyes seem to be staring into nothing. Plutarch and Effie are perched across the room, and around the small desk sits several doctors, who's hands are furiously flying across the blue screen on the desk's surface.
The idea is, or should be, seemingly simple. And it goes like this.
Back during the first Games, when I was stung by the Tracker Jackers, Rue, sweet, kind little Rue, chewed the mint leaves to draw out the poison in my stings. And according to the ever extensive scans, and abscess of this same poison has been sitting in Peeta's brain ever since they rescued him from the Capitol during the war. Over time, it will slowly destroy itself, but this is a timely process with slow results. So Gale proposed what is hoped to be a much quicker solution. Use those same leaves that Rue gave me on Peeta's brain.
I almost didn't believe it at first, and even know, I can't be sure. The doctors have been struggling over the idea for hours, unsure if this risky and odd procedure is even possible. So here we sit, watching them, waiting for some sort of answer.
The only sound heard is the soft hum of the street below and the occasional grunt from a doctor. They all introduced themselves at some point, but their names seem pointless now. The only thing that really sticks out to me is the bright orange streak down the youngest doctor's hair.
When my eyelids are drooping and my head aches from staring at the screen for too long, it's Haymitch who suggests I get some sleep. I object at first, not wanting to miss anything that might happen, but when Gale joins in the argument as well, I just agree. For everything that Gale has done, I don't want to argue with him any more than needed. Haymitch volunteers to bring me to my room, so we feebly walk from the office and into the hall. When we are finally back in my room, the door closed, he speaks.
"You know what you owe him know, don't you?" He grunts.
"Of course I do," I sigh, and he just nods grimly. He slips out without another word, leaving me to the silence. And as much as I fight it, sleep comes so quickly I just give up.
And it's not dreams of mutts or clocks or trains that wakes me, its the shouts of someone else, far away. Or so it seems. As I pull myself from sleep's gentle grasp, I realize that the voice is not far away at all. It lies just above the hazy cloud I'm floating in.
"Katniss," The voice sounds, and I'm forcing myself awake to see who exactly it belongs to. My body is weak and my mind clouded, and I'm not particularly fond of being awoken in such a manner.
"Katniss, wake up!" The voices says again, and this time, I force my eyes open. The light is blinding at first, and for a moment, its just blackness above me. But slowly, I'm beginning to make out the figure next to me.
"Haymitch?" I mumble, and he grunts in response.
"Who else, sweetheart?" He jabs, and I moan. I can now clearly see his disheveled appearance: unshaven, stained clothes, messy hair.
"What do you want?" I ask, but he doesn't acknowledge my mocking tone.
"It's Peeta. Get up." He says, and at the mention of his name, I immediately bolt into a sitting position.
"What?" I gasp, and he nods.
"They think they've done it, come on." He says, and I leap from bed. My mess of hair slaps against my back and a rush of cold air rushes through my gown. From the glance I get in the mirror, my condition is poor, at best. I don't stop, though. Haymitch leads me out of the room and down the hall towards Peeta's room.
A guard stands at the door, but with one look at the both of us, he steps to the side. I give Haymitch a look, but he just shrugs. What is the guard for, to keep people from getting in, to to stop someone from getting out?
The viewing room with the clear glass wall facing into Peeta's confined space is filled with people, doctors and nurses. Plutarch is here, Effie and Gale as well. I'm pushing through the people, trying to get a view through the glass. But, no luck. I can't see past any of the tall figures around me.
I turn around, knowing that there is only one way I will see Peeta. Haymitch realizes what I'm doing before anyone else. He grabs my arm, but I instinctively bit down on his closed fingers and he lets go with a yelp. I push through the doctors and nurses, who are exchanging brisk talk of medicine and brains and Gale. No one seems to notice when I reach the glass door and push it open, except Haymitch, who is yelling behind me.
"Katniss, you know what happened last time!" He shouts, but I ignore it. Peeta is so close, and I have longed so dearly to seem him well again. So when I step through the doorway, the clean smell of antiseptic filling my nose, my eyes dart around the room for him.
And it's not his hair, or his smile, or his welcoming arms that convince me of who he is. Not the warmth of his chest against my cheek, or the gentle scent of soap that lurks on his skin.
It's his eyes, clear and blue and shining with happiness. That's what convinces me. That's what lets me know that I have him back again.